Game of Love
by litttleonee
Summary: I played, and I lost. (hd slash...sorta)


Mostly this came out of no where. I wrote it about a year ago and I found half of it and decided to finish it. Its really unorganized and kinda confusing, but I think I cleared it up in my head now (notice I said MY head lol). I made all that crap (look down) italiasized because those are like..flash back present thoughts. Then the regular stuff is just harry telling the story. Or something like that. Lol. Super angst and major confusion. Read at your own risk. Ahaha. Just an angsty little fic that's all. Okay im out now read. ;) 

Every time the blade slices, and every time I see the scarlet blood drip from my flesh, it makes everything become unclear. The pain...there is no pain when I do this. It makes the other pain, the pain I have been hiding for so long, my whole life, just become duller. I lose control of my body and thoughts and I'm consumed in one thing only: the blade, the flesh, and the blood. My world swirls in twisted colors around me, and my mind becomes blank, I don't care about what's going on. But as always, I come back to reality. It's not fucking fair. I lost, I always do.

I can never win this game...

***

Many people think its a horrible thing, purposely cutting yourself. It's really not. If they knew the pain I've gone through my whole life, they'd do what I do too. People talk out their asses. They act like they know exactly what they're talking about, when they think of someone who hurts themselves. They're say we're crazy, or worse, looking for attention. I'm not. I don't want attention. I don't let anyone know about the scars. If anyone saw them, I'd kill them.

It doesn't hurt really. It's like this...pleasant pain. You forget about all the other things going on in your life. And when you see the blood, your blood, *my* blood, its like your troubles flowing, trickling away. It's beautiful, if you think about it. Its a beautiful thing to watch your problems slip slowly away like that. 

Beautiful...

***

I saw him today, I see him everyday. So normal, so perfect, girls throwing themselves at him. Fucker. That fucking piece of shit makes everything worse. Part of the reason I do it is so I can forget about him. Why did I fall in love with him? It's not fair that the one I love is the one I'm supposed to hate. He hates me, I know he does. 

How did I fall in love with him in the first place? I think it was that day, that first day I met him, and he pushed me away. That hurt. That hurt alot. I remember my first year at school was the year I started cutting myself. Because I fell deeper and deeper into this pool of self hatred. Sometimes I think it's my fault, but deep down I know its not.

I hate my father. He did this, its all his fault. 

I think my father and him have alot in common. They both make me weak. My father makes me weak because I fear him. You know what I fear about him the most? I fear his eyes. They're almost like mine, but his have this firey, raging glint in them. I hate them. I know he's getting angry when I see his eyes light up like burning flames, dancing wildly in little silver orbs. 

The one person I love makes me weak, like my father. I want to hide when I think about him, and I do. I do this for him, I do everything for him, and he doesn't know, and he doesn't care.

*I take the knife, and the pale glow of light in the room flickers gently off of the sharp blade. I press it to my skin, just barely, but just enough to break through, and watch the blood drip silently. This is all your fucking fault, Potter...*

***

__

Sleep is something that so many people take for granted. Some people can sleep anywhere, for as long as they want. I'm lucky if I can get an hour or so of sleep in one night. I always had night mares. They weren't about my parents or something like that, like most people would think, but they're just...so damn strange. Mixed up things, always the same. I see distorted images of people and objects. Then I see this blur, this white blur of a person, and the person is crying. I can hear them, soft, uncontrolable sobs. I get closer and closer, and just as I get close enough to ask them why they're crying, they burst into flames. Disturbing, right? Yea you're telling me. And this is what goes through the mind of the god damn perfect boy.

I'm afraid to sleep at night because I can't bare to see it. It seems like every time I dream it, I get closer to the blurs face. But I never see who it is. Maybe someday I'll find out. Someday

***

When I can't sleep, like that night, I take walks wearing the invisibility cloak that belonged to my father. On that night, I had woken and decided to wander around, maybe it would make me drowsy. Which, unfortunately probably would not work. 

I was walking in the dark corridors, nearly stepping on Filches cat, when I heard the most unbelievable noise. I heard someone crying. It was so soft, and I knew I recognized that cry. It was the cry from the dream.

I followed it, and found myself walking into the boys lavatory. I pushed open each stall, but the one at the end was locked. I knocked on it once. Twice...

"Go away..." A miserable reply came back right as I was about to knock again. Who was this? I heard this voice before, I knew it. But not filled with this much pain.

"What's wrong? Are you hurt?" I asked quietly.

"Hurt? I've been hurt since I was born." He said this with no more then a whisper, it was more to himself then to me. I tried to peak through that little space between the door and the connecting one. I still couldn't see who it was.

"Who's in here? This is Harry, Harry Potter. Do you want me to help you?" He stopped making any noise at all. I had no idea what to do. "Hello? Please, open the door, I don't want you to hurt yourself or something? Please?"

***

__

He actually thought he could help me. The only way he could was to love me like I love him. And he never would. And he never did. And he never will.

***

After about two minutes, I tried pushing down the door. But it was too late. I heard something softly hit the ground. I kneeled down and looked under the stall. The boy was there, slumped on the ground now. He has white blonde hair, and I knew instantly who it was. It was Malfoy. And he was dead.

***

__

I'm glad Potter saw me. I'm glad he got to see the pain I went through just to love him. I'm glad he saw me playing my game. The game of loving him. But now it's over. And I lost for good this time.


End file.
